


Long Live Spot

by Starla-Nell (Princess_Nell)



Series: The Bournshire Boys [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Honnleath, No Smut, Undead, Undead Cat Disintegration, Young Owain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 11:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6983005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Nell/pseuds/Starla-Nell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owain just wants to stop by his childhood home before making a big decision: Harrowing or Tranquility? </p><p>On the way, he meets someone in Honnleath who needs his help. </p><p>What will be the price of doing his best?</p><p>Begins to answer the question: what inspired Cullen to be so dedicated to being a templar?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Long Live Spot

**Author's Note:**

> Neither of the Bournshire Boys appear in this work, but consequences of this event inspire Cullen in a lasting way, and Alistair will meet young Owain in Redcliff soon. Ripples also touch lives in the Circle, which in turn affect our favorite not-quite-templars.

It was a fairly early morning on Honnleath’s Market Day. Though it was a tiny market, the season ensured the selection was reasonably good. A young man strolled by the stalls. A vendor with piles of orange, red, and dirt-colored roots looked up as if she thought she recognized him, but she shook her head and turned away.

 

The young man tried not to look too relieved as the smell of roasted turnips triggered a wave of nostalgia. “It won’t be long now,” he thought as he eyed the huge stone statue in the square, garlanded by some sort of star-shaped flower. “Why do they do that?”

 

“It’s in honor of Market Day!” said a woman approaching behind him. She carried a hand bell and wore a woven hat with a riot of flowers stuck into it, presumably also in honor of Market Day. The young man realized he had spoken out loud.

 

“Of course,” he replied, but she didn’t hear him. She walked by on his left to the statue in the empty center of the square. Once there, she checked the statue’s shadow, dramatically paused, then enthusiastically rang her bell. It was one of the loudest things he’d heard since leaving his … prior accommodations.

 

There was some general eye-rolling, but the Market’s business started with the sound of the bell. He continued past villagers, musing on whether it was the best or worst of luck that he should happen through town today. True, he could get fresh carrots, some cheese, maybe even fruit without much fuss, but with more people around, there was a risk that someone would recognize him.

 

His musing were interrupted by a high cry of, “My cat!” as a young girl scurried toward him, stopping to kneel by a small blob of orange stripey fur to his left.

 

The runaway had just walked by the girl, when she started crying. Oh, for the love of the Maker’s Bride. He turned and crouched next to the girl. “What’s wrong?”

 

She was disconsolate. “My kitty is dead.”

 

The teen tried to find an appropriate response to this. Remembering the Chant, he replied: “Your cat has gone to the Fade to be with the Maker.”

 

“No! She should be with me!”

 

“Nobody can compete with the Maker, I’m afraid.”

 

“I didn’t get to say goodbye.” Relief flooded the runaway. Finally, something he could help with! He hadn’t used this spell on animal remains since the last time he’d been home, but surely he’d learned enough since then that it wouldn’t go that badly. “Well, maybe you can. What’s your cat’s name?”

 

The girl looked startled, and hiccups had suddenly replaced her tears. “Her name's Spot.” She took quick, hopeful breaths between her hiccups.

 

The teen lifted an eyebrow and regarded the dark stripes in the orange fur. He decided against more comment than that, and suggested, “Let’s call to the Fade and ask Spot to visit.”

 

“Spot can do that?”

 

“If it’s the Maker’s will.”

 

“I’ll call to the Maker, too, then.”

 

“That might help,” he allowed. “Let’s start. Here, Spot!”

 

“That won’t work. Spot’s a cat.” Then the girl made the most amazing chirping sound with her teeth. “Spot, you want pettins?”

 

The young man shrugged. “Maybe you should call to Spot. You have more practice. I'll call to the Maker." He adopted what he hoped was a properly prayerful stance. “Maker, please release Spot for a quick visit. This girl – what’s your name?”

 

“Sophie. What’s yours?”

 

“Owain,” he replied without thinking.

 

“This girl Sophie really needs a chance to say goodbye. We know that the Fade has a lot to offer a cat, so she can’t stay long-”

 

“And you must give really good pettins, being the Maker and all…”

 

“But if Spot could come visit, that would be great.”

 

“Please Maker, let Spot come back. I love her so much, even though she tried to swipe my nose all the time. But she really loved pettins. She would purr like anything.”

 

During this little speech, Owain moved back a little. A bowed head and an outstretched hand would probably not be noticed. He cast the spell, and Spot twitched.

 

“Spot!” Owain was gratified by the joy in the younger child’s voice as she offered her fist for inspection. Spot lifted her head. “You want pettins?”

 

Spot swiped at Sophie’s nose. “Guess not.” Spot hissed like a demon and made a distinctive, wet, rattling noise. Owain backed up in horror as Sophie’s mother approached. How could he think this would help? A thousand fears welled up as he turned to run. Curious glances seemed to accuse him of blood magic, consorting with demons, and worse.

 

Behind Owain, Spot’s body clawed its way up the leg of Sophie’s mother. As it reached her hip, the cat’s face rotted off in accelerated time, followed by paws, legs, fur, and tail. When the body reached the ground again, it was not much more than dust.

 

A high-pitched and wordless scream followed Owain to the edge of Honnleath and echoed in his head as he realized he could never go home.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Next up: Guess who's in the Honnleath Chantry when townsfolk come looking for the Templars?


End file.
